


Villainous Virtuosity

by AvatarofJord



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Canon Bisexual Character, Established Relationship, F/M, Femdom, Gage is a Sub, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, Rough Kissing, fight me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 02:32:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17438240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvatarofJord/pseuds/AvatarofJord
Summary: “So what did ya do, back then. Before all this?” He asks, head tilted.When she answers it’s maybe the last thing he expects, knowing what little he does.“I was a lawyer.”***This is written just because i wanted amoral female sole survivor who'd pretty much always been that way.Title comes from the  SCAV! perk





	Villainous Virtuosity

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a bit of indulgent Fallout nonsense because I love the idea of a Sole Survivor the femdoms the shit out of Gage, but he loves every minute of it.  
> MY SS's name is Moira but in this fic the SS remains unnamed.  
> Gage might be a bit too sweet on her, but whoops thats legit how i see him.  
> no beta, thrown together so so quick

She’s got the whole thing set up on the bed, dirty mattress covered in scraps of leather and rubber. The boot is strapped down, nearly complete, just missing its laces. He’s got no clue where she would've picked up _yellow_ boot polish, but shes a resourceful sort, able to build things out of scrap most folks would leave to the Wasteland.

Porter Gage looks her over, face-paint from the day before smeared, black and white becoming grey, contrasted against her bright pink hair. It’s ratty, the shaved sides and back blotted with the boot shine, the longer top strands knotted. She’s in a red Nuka World t-shirt, sleeves ripped off, and no pants. She hasn’t looked up, hasn’t acknowledged him-but that’s common. It’s how she reminds him of his place, worthy of attention only when she decides to give it to him. An Overboss in everything she does.

“Didn’t know you could make shoes. Real talent that.” He says, a transparent attempt to draw her into a conversation. He flops into the chair facing the Fizztop bedroom, the one in the first little cafe setting. For a moment he thinks she plans to ignore him. 

“There’s whole universes of things you don’t know about me, Gage.” She says, eyes never lifting as she turns the boot in her hands to polish the heel. The light coming in to her left catches on her tan skin and all the dust, paints her in intimate oranges and yellows. The sun caught in the snarls of her hair and across her lips. “I took it as an elective, sophomore year of my undergrad. Fashion design. Was pretty good at it. Almost considered changing my major.” 

“Huh. So you’re an educated type. Shoulda known. Let me guess, you were-”

“Don’t pretend you know anything about higher education Gage.” She says, a lilt in her voice that’s almost honest laughter, and finally her eyes turn to him, copper-fire green illuminated by the sunset. 

“So what did ya do, back then. Before all this?” He asks, head tilted.

He can’t imagine her before this, in a fantastical past his parents and grandparents had never seen. That’s not to say he hasn’t seen a glimpse, he knows the natural color of her hair, what she looks like under the paint. When she stumbled into the Guantlet, still raw- from the destruction of the Institute, the death of her son- she’d still been sporting her vault suit. He hadn’t expected she’d have the stone cold soul necessary to kill Colter. He’d been wrong of course.

When she answers it’s maybe the last thing he expects, knowing what little he does.

“I was a lawyer.” She reaches into the pile of scrap off to the side of the bed and pulls out a long length of frayed black cord. 

Gage can’t stop the laugh that caws out of his mouth. 

“A fuckin’ lawyer?!” He crows, visible eye crinkling. He tries not to smile too much, his teeth look like shit and where that hadn’t bothered him before, compared to hers he can’t help but be a little self conscious. Instead a calloused paw covers his mouth as he continues to laugh. “Who’da guessed you’d a been a defender of law and order. That’s damn rich.”

He watches her lips quirk up, and there’s a gleam in her eye. She pulls the laces tight in the yellow boot before threading them through the next eyelet. When she responds there’s a preening edge to it.

“Defense. I was a defense attorney.”

“Hmm. What’s that mean?”

“Means I spent my time getting no good sonsofbitches like yourself off.” She drops the boot, laced up, on the last word next to its twin. If anyone asked Gage about the yellow gloves she’d been sporting lately, and these new boots, he’d lie and say he hadn’t noticed. Hadn’t noticed how they matched his own painted armor, hadn’t seen the new yellow paint job on her regular metal chestplate- still a shark face design but no longer the greens and reds it had been. He’d deny every bit of sentiment even as it lit his insides up like Quantum.

He’s never been part of one of the gangs, never felt the need for tribe the way the other dumbfucks had. He’d always just followed the money and the power. But this Overboss, it’s a new regime, and any plans Gage might have had, they’ve been set aside. Seeing her new gear, the way she’s marking him and her as more than just a pair of lone raiders, he knows there’s no going back. It’s all hers now.

She prowls from the bed, long, toned legs bare except for her white socks with a red band at the top and the hole in one toe. Her knee caps are cracked, and the scar where a bullet went through her left thigh shines. He doesn’t know much about lawyers except what he’d seen in old posters for cop movies. Suits, stern faces. He tries to picture her like that and finds he likes this much better.

“A lawyer?” He says again. 

“Yeaup. Drug dealers, mobsters, there was even talk of me taking on Eddie Winter as a client. I was good.” She settles over his lap, legs braced on either side of his hips. She runs her hands over the soft buzzed sides of his head, up til she can tighten her fingers in his Mohawk. When she yanks on it, pulling his head back, she’s smirking down at him. “You seem to be under the impression I’m a good person.”

“Wonder why.”

“You think I helped the Minutemen, the Brotherhood , because I’m altruistic.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No.” She answers, finite, in the voice she uses to give orders. “I needed to find my son.” 

She doesn’t talk about him. Gage knows his name was Shaun, he knows the kid is dead, but he’s not sure of the particulars. He’s heard rumors about the General, the single mindedness to find her missing child that turned into a vendetta to destroy the Institute. A vendetta that left a crater where the old C.I.T had been. Looking at the Overboss in front of him it’s hard to reconcile her with the General- a person many hailed as a savior.

“So why does a woman, spend all her time studying the law, just to turn around on it?” He knows she’s smart enough to pick out all the ways he means the question.

She smiles, and tightens her grip in his hair.

“Because in this country everyone is entitled to representation. Scumbags and saints alike. Because every system is corrupt and there’s no such thing as fair. Because it made me a shit load of money and I fucking loved it.” She leans in close now, mouth hot against his ear. “And because I’m a goddamn patriot, just like you Porter.”

Gage can’t stop the snort that follows her statement. “How’s that?”

“Back then, during the war, you have no idea what it was like. 200 years ago. Everyone watching everyone. Communist spies everywhere. But me, I’m a fucking American. I’m a motherfucking Capitalist.” She bites his jaw then, teeth digging in. “Every one of you raider fucks, you remind me what that means, you know. Even if you’re all pieces of shit. ” 

She kisses him then, firm, hard, teeth biting into his lips, tongue demanding he yield. And, _fucking shit,_ he does, and loves it, like he’s never loved it before. It’s not like it had been with Colter, where giving in, taking it, was a survival technique. It’s not that he didn’t get off, but it had never been comfortable, rewarding. It had been tolerated. But this, with her, he wants this. When she pulls back from him the paint that had covered her mouth is smeared all over. He’s sure it’s on his face too.

“When you got nothing to lose blood money is just money.”

“An’ we all know how I feel about money.” 

She laughs then, and the smile on her face touches her eyes. She lets go of his hair, reaching behind her for the Nuka Cola on the table. A soft pop and fizz and the top comes off. She rolls it across her knuckles before pressing the sharp metal teeth into the hollow of his throat. She leaves it there, stuck to him and saunters back to the bed, back to her boots. 

“Well baby, consider this a tip for what you’re gonna do for me later. These boots here are gonna need a christening if you can wait for it.” She winks at him, and he shrugs back, smirk settling on his paint smeared mouth.

“Whatever you’d like, Boss.”


End file.
